15 Things That Owen Can't Do
by Angelamermaid
Summary: He's not Superman.


15 Things That Owen Can't Do

Cristina comes home after a shift, fully expecting the meal that Owen had promised her. She raises an eyebrow at the empty kitchen – and at the familiar laughter coming from Callie's room. She goes to the open door of Callie's room and stares.

Callie is lounging on her bed, laughing at some joke with Owen. Who is shirtless and doing – something – in Callie's closet.

"Ahem," she coughs.

They both turn around. Owen gives her a friendly wave and Callie smiles.

"You have the greatest boyfriend," she informs Cristina.

"Do I?" she asks, leaning against the doorframe. "What is going on here?"

"I was complaining to Owen that I could never find anything in my closet, he offered to look at it, and now he's rebuilding it for me. He went out and got these shelves and rods and stuff."

"You're kidding," Cristina says. "Tell me you're kidding."

Owen turns around and smiles. "Don't worry, I got enough materials to do your closet too."

"That's not the point," Cristina sputters. "You're a _closet organizer_ now? And where is my supper?"

Owen makes a face. "Oh crap, I forgot. I got caught up in this, and I had to go to the hardware store a couple of times. Sorry."

"Supper's on me," Callie declares. "I'll order us in some pizza." She pulls out her cell phone and starts dialling.

Cristina sighs. Owen raises an eyebrow. "I'll make supper for you tomorrow night, okay?"

She frowns. "If you're not too busy grouting our bathroom and sewing new curtains for Callie?"

"_What?_" he laughs, putting down his tools. Callie looks at the two of them and smirks.

"_Is there anything you can't do?_" Cristina explodes. "For god's sake Owen, it's like I'm dating Leonardo da Vinci! You cook, you do my laundry, you change my oil, you fix flat tires, now you're a carpenter who redesigns closets - what _can't_ you do?"

He stares at her, trying not to laugh. "I can't keep plants alive. I _can't_ sew curtains. I – well, I'm sure there's more."

"Only freaks can keep plants alive," Cristina scowls, flopping down on Callie's bed. "Tell me something that you really suck at. I want to hear all about your incompetence at something. Be a human being."

Callie disconnects the call. "Go ahead, Owen. Tell us a story."

He laughs and pulls on his t-shirt. "Okay. There is something that I am terrible at."

_  
"Tell me again why we're doing this?" Owen sighs as he ties on a pair of rented skates._

"We're doing something that _I like to do," Beth says. "Is this really your first time?"_

He nods. "Never wanted to try hockey, so why would I ever put on skates?"

"There are male ice skaters, you know."

"Who wear leotards."

Beth giggles and stands up. She brought her own skates to the rink. She's dressed in white jeans with a fuzzy pink sweater, with matching hat and gloves. Owen feels underdressed, with his flannel shirt and jeans. "Come on, Owen!"

He looks up at her and grins. He grabs the bench and slowly stands up, feeling wobbly.

Beth smiles and claps her gloved hands. She turns and walks towards the ice with confidence. Owen carefully follows her, feeling like he could fall at any instant.

His girlfriend steps onto the ice and does a little twirl. "Hurry up!"

He laughs as he hesitantly steps onto the ice. He holds onto the wall for support. "Now what?"

Beth holds out her hands. "Hold on". He grabs onto her hands. She waits for a couple of children to pass, then skates backward, tugging him along.

"Try pushing with your feet," she suggests. He does - and loses his footing, falling forward with an "oomph!" Some passing girls laugh.

Beth giggles and helps him stand up, brushing bits of ice off of his legs. She grabs his hands again. "Try it again." She skates backward again, with a grace he envies, as he tries not to fall. He doesn't. This time, they make it to the other side of the rink. Beth gives him a gentle shove so he can hang onto the boards.

"We could get you one of those training chairs," Beth teases, pointing to some small children in the middle of the rink.

Owen shakes his head and chuckles. "Way too short for me."

She laughs. "Okay, watch me." She skates back and forth, talking to him about pushing with his feet.

"Ready to try it on your own?"

Owen shrugs. "Here goes nothing." He pushes off against the wall, finds himself leaning forward too much, tries to self-correct by straightening up - and falls again, this time landing on his butt.

Beth doesn't laugh again. She instead helps him up, in a way that makes him feel like an overgrown second-grader. He sighs and wipes the snow off of his butt.

"_Are you sure you can teach me how to skate?" he asks._

"_I've been teaching little kids for years, I can teach you."_

"_All right, let's try this again."_

"Here we go!" she chirps, moving behind him and giving him a push. He moves forward, tries to remember what to do with his feet, and falls face first again. This time, he falls hard, arms flailing. He feels his nose crack as it hits the ice. He winces as the taste of blood fills his mouth.

"Oh god Owen!" Beth exclaims, skating over. "Oh my god you're bleeding!"

Owen tentatively touches his nose and winces again. He spits out a mouthful of blood. "It's bwo – it's broken."

Beth inhales sharply. Belatedly, he remembers she can't stand the sight of blood. He doesn't care right now.

Some adults have come over, bringing lots of tissues and paper towels. Owen sighs and asks for a first aid kit, explaining that he's a second year resident. Two men volunteer to help him towards the nearest exit. He grudgingly accepts their help, just wanting to get off the ice as soon as possible.

_A first aid kit is found. One of the mothers is a nurse and assists him in taping up his nose. Beth retrieves their belongings, then stands a good distance away, hugging herself and looking panicked. A couple of the women go over to console her._

Feeling utterly embarrassed, Owen tries to remove his skates himself, but bending over sends more blood to his hurting nose. Sighing, he lets Beth untie his skates and put his boots on.  


"And I've never been ice skating again. Because I can't do it," Owen finishes.

Callie smirks, and Cristina nods, amused. "What else can't you do?"

He thinks. "I can't say 'no' to Bailey."

"_Nobody_ can," Callie laughs.

"I can't understand why people 'Twitter'."

Cristina rolls her eyes. "That's not a skill, doesn't count."

"I can't read lips," he offers.

"Keep going."

"I can't pick a lock, especially when drunk." The women raise their eyebrows. "And it turns out that I can't talk military police into forgetting they ever saw something questionable." They laugh.

He thinks some more. "I can't play any musical instruments. I have never finished a crossword puzzle. I can't dance."

"You _can _dance," Callie interrupts. Cristina looks at her. "What? I've seen you two dancing in the living room."

Cristina smiles as Owen turns a little pink.

"But you _are_ incapable of leaving the toilet seat down," Callie tells Owen.

He grins and continues. "I can't speak a foreign language. I'm really bad at tennis. I can paint a house, but I can't paint or draw a picture."

He leans close to Cristina's face. "And I can't stop being useful. You're going to have to live with that."

She cocks an eyebrow and smirks. "I can't."


End file.
